


Existence is Fickle

by spiritspitpit



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Androids, It's a little different than in game, M/M, Or at least the politics of FFxv, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Slow Burn, Soft magic systen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22573702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritspitpit/pseuds/spiritspitpit
Summary: "I think, therefore I am." It was a justification he’d repeated to himself before. If only it were so easy.It can be easy, a part of himself argues. The world can be easy and full of choices and blue skies and freedoms he longs for so dearly. The world can be so many things, but in order for that to happen, change must be wrought and Prompto is not the force to cause it.Until he is.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum, Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	1. Keep

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yo this is something I've been working on for like. ever. Still working on it, but I felt it was time to possibly post what I had written, that being 37 pages worth of shit. It'll be broken up into chapters, though, so as not to be too overwhelming in one go.  
> Hope you like it!

The first thing he notices is that the room is damp and the air smells of sweat and mold. It’s a smell Prompto has gotten used to. With the combination of the humidity and lack of air movement in the Keep, it was a smell that carried through the entire building. Prompto felt that stuffiness stick to the back of his neck uncomfortably. The doctor sitting across the table in front of him looked uncomfortable too. He was constantly shifting in his seat, and a light sheen of sweat shone above his brow.

“Your mobility tests came back with flying colors, 05953234. Congratulations. Your program tests were also very good. You came to the top of your section in accuracy as well. If you do good for the Empire, here--” The doctor pointed to the camera recording them with the end of his pen-- “Then you’ll be able to be a part of Ardyn’s retinue to Lucis. You just have to pass some more tests.”

Prompto nodded. These were questions he’d been given before. Ones that he’d been trained to answer correctly. In the beginning he struggled with them. They didn’t sit right in his mind. Prompto was a machine. He was made to emulate humanity. He looked human, and he could talk and think, and, most importantly, he could feel. He feels the solidness of the concrete under his fingertips when he runs them against a wall. He can feel how hot or cold the generator is on a given day, sometimes so hot that it hurts.

Pain was even worse than any other feeling.

Prompto wasn’t supposed to feel pain. He couldn’t, the doctor’s all said they couldn’t. That’s why they felt justified in their punishment methods for the androids. Shocking them didn’t hurt them because they weren’t thinking,  _ feeling _ beings. What was he then? Was he not thinking? Did he not feel the overwhelming pain? Or was it his mind--his cybernetics--attempting to ensure that Prompto fell ever deeper into the falsehood that he was something he is not. He is not human. Yet despite that, he will recall the sayings of long-dead scholars as means of comfort.

_ I think, therefore I am.  _ It was a justification he’d repeated to himself before. If only it were so easy.

_ It can be easy _ , a part of himself argues. The world can be easy and full of choices and blue skies and freedoms he longs for so dearly. The world can be so many things, but in order for that to happen, change must be wrought and Prompto is not the force to cause it. He is but one among thousands that share his face, his voice, and nothing else. If he must fall into line to survive, then that is what he will do.

But Prompto is soon to be considered for great things. Despite his ‘past errors’ he has proven to be the best candidate to leave Gralea. He spoke more clearly than other androids, his movements were more seamless and quicker than the others, along with his reaction time, but most importantly, he hadn’t needed to be upgraded. He was one of the few that processed better on the original, albeit ‘outdated’, operating system. That was very important to the doctors for a reason Prompto couldn’t discern. Out of Gralea is freedom. Out of Gralea is a choice. This is the change he had been waiting for, and Prompto will ensure that he makes it there.

“What are you?” The doctor asks very slowly.

He smiles, blinks once in a farce of processing before lying. “I am an android, model N-1P01357, serial 05953234. I am a helper android; I cook, clean, take care of children, and the needs or desires of my owner. I am also equipped with the skills necessary to protect my owner in a multitude of situations.”

The doctor nodded, pleased. “Perfect, and your name?”

This one Prompto falters on, “I-I go by 05953432, or any name given to me by my owner.”

If the doctor noted Prompto’s mistake, he doesn’t write it down on the clipboard that seals his fate. Instead, he is accosted with another nod and a smile, placating and concerning.

“Do you have aspirations, 05953234?”

Trick question. “I want nothing more than to fulfill my primary objective and any secondary objectives given to me by my owner.”

“Perfect.” They’d only been sitting here for two hours, mostly displaying a series of images to gauge Prompto’s reactions, but yes, that was the first perfect response he’d given. Prompto has to hold back his scoff. “Now, this last question is going to be the most difficult to answer, so I am going to give you a few minutes to respond. What are you thinking about right now?”

What was he thinking? Is this something that he was supposed to actually answer? Was this another trick? In a split second, Prompto came to the conclusion that is what the question was. “I do not think. I do, however, have a wide variety of words and phrases, as well as an advanced speech processor programmed, that can convince one that I have the capability to think.”

The doctor grinned widely, and Prompto tried his best to not let the relief show on his face.

“Thank you for your time, 05953234. You’ve successfully passed the requirements necessary to be greenlit by my staff for the transfer. You will be in the presence of King Regis within the week. Your briefing with the Chancellor will be tomorrow, 9 a.m. sharp. Do not be late. You may go back to stasis for the time being.”

Prompto stood, turning and making his way to the door. Just before he could reach for the handle the doctor called for him.

“Please, remember, 05953234. Remember what will happen if you slip up in front of Ardyn. You are the most advanced of your kind. He will fear that you will want humanity. See to it that he has no reason to fear. When you are out of his custody, you will be safe.”

Prompto looked back, “Is this off the record, sir?”

He smiled something familiar and Prompto felt his head overheat with trying to figure out what was so familiar about that smile.

“Of course it is, Prompto. Now hurry, before the guards feel the need to come in.”

The shock of hearing his own name for the first time since waking felt like a drill to his stomach. His head felt dizzy with confusion. “I don’t understand, sir?”

“You won’t. Not yet. Make the right decisions, Prompto. Keep yourself alive this time. We can’t lose what you may be.”

Prompto left after that. The door closing with a soft ‘click’ that seemed like a gunshot in the hallway. He paced down the hall, towards the station for static androids, slowing as he rounded upon the curve in the corridor. He stopped at a point that he knew well. If he stood closest to the curve of the wall just like he was, the cameras would not see him. He leaned into the cold wall, and took a breath.

He didn’t think he was supposed to make it this far. The concept that people who Prompto couldn’t even name were helping him get to effectively the highest position any android or person could reach was startling. How many were there, quietly manipulating things so that Prompto could get where he was going to be very, very soon?

The feeling of pushing and pulling oxygen into his chest cavity felt comforting, it was a pleasure he only let himself have when he was sure that no one could see. The action was innate, but taught out of his daily mannerisms by the doctors.

“They decommission the ones that do that too much,” one whispered after reprimanding Prompto once. “The ones that act too human.”

Decommission was death. 05953335 was decommissioned and when it came back, it couldn’t remember anything. Wiped clean, was what they said it was, wiped clean and never the same. Decommission scared Prompto more than anything. Even if he wasn’t supposed to, he felt. He wanted things. He was some _ one _ , rather than some _ thing _ . It was more than he could ask for, being able to live this long, but he wanted more. Before decommission, 05953335 once went outside, the sky, it told him, was white and falling. Prompto wanted to see it for himself.

\--

Prompto never felt so inadequate before as when he stood surrounded by the Empire’s finest. He felt like that was the purpose of the robes and the constant fronting each man did to the other, to try to make whoever they were threatened by seem lesser. It was working, with how pathetic Prompto looked in comparison to the Chancellor.

Ardyn Izunia was an imposing man, and he wasted no time in letting Prompto know that he held nothing but distaste for the android.

“I’m going to assume that you got here for a reason, and thus aren’t so broken to need me to repeat myself at all, yes?” He didn’t wait for a reply as he turned back to his schematics on the wall behind him, pointing to various rooms with fevered movements. “You are going to be given to the King’s son as a gift of ‘peace’ but what neither know, and they will not know until the penultimate moment, is that on the tenth night of your new ownership, you will initiate your primary objective. After you do so, contact me. After I give you a signal that I’ve arrived, ask to speak with the king, and the last phase will be on my marks as indicated. Understood?”

Prompto nodded, barely processing the information being given to him. This was his primary function, his purpose in being brought into his world. The preservation of the Niflheim Empire, at any and all cost. This was a suicide mission. Prompto would die if he followed this through. Prompto might die if he doesn’t convince them that he can, no  _ will _ , do this. Even if he doesn’t want to.

_ He doesn’t want to? _

His head throbbed. The conversation changed focus, over to some menial officers’ duties while they’re on the move. Inconsequential, really. The last thing the Lucians would do is attack unprovoked. Something buzzed just above his eyes.

According to his data, the Kingdom of Lucis is not in the wrong. Even in the hard light that the Niflheim database provides, it is them, not Lucis, who are the aggressors. The politics are quite vitriolic on both sides in terms of trade and relations, yes, but Lucis has never acted in any way other than self-preservation. Reviewing the videos Prompto had of council meetings past, the only aggressors he could see was  _ Niflheim. _

Lucis was full of grandeur, yes. It was an opulent country, obviously wealthy, but envy alone is not a good reason to wreak havoc upon an entire country. To plot to overthrow and kill it’s royal family. Lucis was home to seven billion citizens, and all of them were going to be pillaged if The Emperor or Ardyn got what they wanted, something promised by them both numerous times before, lined out in articles and speeches and threats. Babies would be made into more soldiers, children too old to brainwashed would be killed, and those they couldn’t use were to be disposed of. The culture of the Lucians would be lost. They will be wiped from history. Every. Last. One.

This wasn’t right. They weren’t right. If there were sides to be picked, then this one would be the objectively “wrong” one. Prompto was on the wrong side. Niflheim wasn’t something to be protected, it was something to be stopped. He shouldn’t have to  _ exist _ for--for these  _ monsters _ . The Emperor, Ardyn, the officials that surrounded him in this room, they were all… monsters.

He refuses to live for them any longer.

It felt like something in his mind cracked, and it took everything Prompto had to not scream in pain. Pain. Horrible, urgent, ungodly pain like he had never felt before. His head felt too hot, like there was something changing,  _ rewiring _ itself behind his eyes.

Just as abruptly as it started, it stopped. His field of vision flashed a burning red message.

_ Override primary objective? _

No, he can’t. He’s not allowed to, this is wrong. This will get him killed, this will  _ end him _ . Prompto felt like he was overheating. Like he was on fire. He had to stop this, if anyone in this room found out--

Yet, when Prompto looked past the haze, he saw that no one had their eyes on him. The generals and soldiers and politicians were all watching Ardyn across the room as he waved his arms frantically. They couldn’t see anything that was happening within Prompto.

The ever-increasing panic Prompto had felt crawling up into his vocal chords stopped. Quiet as he dared, he drew in a breath. The pain was becoming tolerable, if not dulling by the second to a low, steady throb. He turned his attention back to the text.

_ Override primary objective? _

Prompto, unsure of what he should do to respond, began to reach into himself and pressed an immaterial finger to the words. A feeling entirely nonexistent and completely there. Almost akin to pressing on a touch screen. There was a click in the back of his hard drive, and the prompt changed.

_ Please enter passcode: _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Seven letters? Digits? Perhaps it was his source code? He input the data.

_ Access denied. _

_ Please enter passcode. _

No, so not his source code. Maybe it was something to the empire? Maybe it was something to his programmers? Yet, each time he attempted to place some sort of key word or phrase into it, the same words would flash.

_ Access denied. _

What could it be? Seven letters or seven digits? Maybe both? Maybe…

Prompto thought back to the doctor, the day prior. Maybe there was more to it. The doctor knew his  _ name _ . No one knew his name. Prompto didn’t even know how he knew his name. He just…

What? He just what?

Prompto attempted to hide the tremble in his hands by moving them under the table. His decision was apparently wrong as it brought the attention back to him.

Through a red viewfinder, Prompto watched as Ardyn snapped his gaze to him. Watching Prompto with a cynical distaste that sent shivers down his spine. Prompto met his beady eyes with the standard stare, not letting anything slip. Trying to feign normality with every prolonged second. Adryn squinted at him a little harsher, like a predator giving up on trying to catch it prey, and stalked to the board once more to point at maps and yell at officers.

He turned his attention back to the on-screen prompt. Unchanging in its near mockery of him.

_ Please enter passcode: _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

With fear gripping the metal in his chest, Prompto input his own name.

_ Access granted. _

All the pressure built up in his head released, and Prompto almost fell back in his chair with the revelation. The screen changed color, a calm robin’s egg blue, and the text remained white, but less harsh.

_ Please input primary objective: _

_ // _

Slowly, Prompto wrote the one desire that had been etched into his mind since he first heard about the color of the sky. Since he first found out he could breathe. Since he first opened his eyes.

_ //Live. _

_ >>05953234, code: “Prompto”, primary objective: //Live. Set. _

There was a final click in his head, a final chord snapping, and then it all returned. The screen faded to clarity of the scene in front of him, and his attention returned fully to what Ardyn and a general were arguing over. He had to pay attention, for now. He had to convince Ardyn he was playing into his hand, but a new part of Prompto had opened, one that wasn’t subject to the Chancellor’s objectives.

Now, Prompto will live.


	2. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto makes it into Insomnia, and meets the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning! there's a pretty graphic depiction of a panic attack here, along with some references to bad things that have happened to Prompto.
> 
> But other than that, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It's like. triple the length of the last one bc I wasn't sure where to cut it up. Also there are a few... dozen parts I just don't like but I'm posting it bc it needs to just. be out of my laptop.

The flight to Insomnia was long enough for Prompto to wonder how much money Niflheim was losing in fueling dropships to stalk the Luci for years. Dozens of trips back and forth, only to never come up with anything new or of value. Millions, Prompto decided, it had to have been millions.

The preparation for this trip was something Prompto was sure cost more than it was worth. He, along with everyone on the trip, was dressed in new clothes. Adryn had called his old ones not “presentable” for the king. So away went his worn cotton shirt and trousers, and instead he was fitted in a black suit. Black, he knew, was a Lucian colour. Adryn was intending to wrap Prompto up like a gift made for the king. In a way, he was, but not in the aspects the King nor Ardyn will be expecting.

He ponders killing everyone on the ship, for a moment. Thinks about snapping Ardyn’s neck before he can think to try to put a bullet in Prompto’s head and using his body as a shield to take down the rest of the guards. The other council members were unarmed, and thus were the easiest to target. He could take hold of the entire ship within a minute, maybe a little less. It was the only downside that they installed Prompto with the attack program, never having thought that he might then have “an inclination to bite the hand that fed him,'' as Ardyn once put it. He can use their blind trust to his advantage, however, and create the illusion that they had nothing to worry about from him. But. Maybe they didn’t. The ramifications that might be held over Prompto for killing these men might not be worth his freedom in advance. That’s fine. Prompto can have patience.

Prompto can keep hope.

The ship landed with a screech, and in a flurry of movement, Prompto was surrounded by guards and escorted outside, the light was harsh and it was warm for just a moment, before he was pushed into a sleek black car. The windows tinted so dark that the reflection in them was almost a mirror, and the air conditioning was so high, Prompto felt that he was back in Gralea. Ardyn sat beside him with a flourish that was wholly unnecessary. Prompto let his ire show when he met the man’s eyes, completely unsurprised to see that the sentiment was reciprocated. He shot a look at the man in question, and Ardyn beseech him with an answer, albeit unwillingly.

“Not that you would be the type to understand the  _ intricacies _ of what’s going on here, but,” Ardyn rolls his eyes, “That is another problem entirely. See, boy, there are paparazzi everywhere, trying to get a glimpse of why we’re in Insomnia, but for the sake of keeping this a surprise we deemed that transporting you as closely guarded as possible would make it that much harder to come to a conclusion. Ensure that there are no good angles, and all that. We don’t want them to see you until  _ we _ want them to. Got it?”

He casts a smile that’s all teeth, and it feels sharp and dangerous. Prompto nods uncomfortably, reflexively turning away to look out the tinted windows. Before he hardly had a moment to take in what Insomnia was like, but he knew it was sunny. His face was still warm from a moment ago and his eyes were still confused on whether or not to adjust to the bright light of outside, or the darkness of the vehicle.

The car lurched through city traffic for a good thirty minutes before they managed to reach the Citadel, and it had taken another fifteen to gain the clearance to enter the premises. They were escorted to park at a place underneath the Citadel, lined on the ceiling with yellowed lights and white marble, the area quickly became dark as they descended the ramp. The lot itself was large, yet still managed to be nearly full of cars, and finding a space for the length of the particular vehicle was a mild hassle, but one that was solved soon enough, no help from Ardyn’s complaining. Exiting was even more of a struggle due to the Chancellor.

“Now, I shall exit first and the congressionals will follow, remain ten steps behind whoever is preceding so that there will be time to properly announce our gift to the King’s brat before they see it. Understood? Wonderful! Now look amiable, gentlemen.”

Prompto sighed as he watched the small group file out of the vehicle, making sure to take his time following behind the last shifty-looking guard out. The stretch of standing to full height made the chord of his back creak, and the back of his neck felt taught from how he’d had to sit on the flight and drive over. There were two Crownsguard that met Prompto as he stepped out of the vehicle. They were tall, imposingly so, but they smiled at Prompto and one had offered a hand to assist him in stepping down. It was odd. There were so many strange things that had happened to Prompto these past days, that he could barely process something as simple as a smile. He took the hand reluctantly, smiling something that must have looked strange. Or perhaps not, his smiles were programmed, and he was programmed to always be disarming, from ‘personality’ to inconsequential things like smiles.

‘He could act human enough to fool them,’ was what one of the doctors had said. He couldn’t fool many of the doctors or officers in Niflheim that he was deserving of being treated like a human, though. They knew too well how far from human he was. More than anything in that moment, he hoped that the royals of Lucis would regard him as more of a person than a piece of technology.

The parking entrance to the Citadel was oddly normal looking. Not that different than the dark, concrete of the lab and the buildings of Niflheim. The citadel guard held his shoulder until he met the concrete of the sidewalk. Prompto intently studied the way it felt to have the tips of fingers brushed against his back. Not just the weight of them, but the gentleness too. Careful. Then, he was being led with the group, across the parking lot and towards a large set of metal doors.The inside of the Citadel was elegant, with the hallway lined with a swirling wallpaper and trimmed with gold accents to the ceiling. The carpet was a deep red, almost like the color of blood. It made Prompto wonder if it was simply meant to be a lustrous color, or if it was meant to be a reminder to whomever walked within the walls. This place was a fortress, above all else. The group slowed and parted at the entrance to a lift, large enough to fit an obscene amount of people. Ardyn parted the men to push Prompto in first, before calling the men to enter in a similar, hasty, fashion.

“We are getting closer, gentlemen, do not disappoint me,” he stood closest to the closing doors, refusing to actually face the group behind him.

Prompto backed himself to the polished wood behind him, taking a deep breath. They were so close. He just had to wait a few more hours, maybe less. His head felt like it was overheating, his core was shaking. There was a sure feeling of reluctance laced in each of his steps. What feeling was this? Stress? Unease? Fear?

The Crownsguard that was closest to him, a woman with short, grey hair and hard eyes, gives him a slow once-over. Perhaps the way he grips the railing or his quiet, quickening, uncontrollable breath is giving him away. She narrows her eyes when he meets her gaze. Prompto widens his own, and looks away. She looks at him like she can see past his skin, look at his metal and wires and inorganic structure. Like she  _ knows _ . It makes something in his stomach tighten uncomfortably, to the point of pain.

_ No _ , he silently pleads, please let her think I’m real. Let her think I’m human.

She takes a silent few steps closer, her stride is long and sure and they end up shoulder to shoulder. She offers a hand, but says nothing. He takes it, and with a brisk shake and nod of her head, she steps back once more.

Prompto is perplexed, staring down at his hand and then glancing back up at her, but she’s already looking ahead and standing at perfect attention. Was that… meant to make him feel more comfortable? Make him feel welcomed? He wasn’t truly sure, but the heat behind his eyes lessened and his shaking stopped and she looked utterly natural as Prompto leaned back against the wall, relaxed.

He took a deep breath, and then another. The tips of his fingers still felt tingly as the elevator lurched to a stop. The Crownsguard at the front of the group stepped out first, and slowly Ardyn followed. The Chancellor’s gaze cast back, and as it caught Prompto’s the man smirked and the blonde felt revulsion cloy at his stomach cavity.

Soon, Prompto let himself take another deep breath. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but even indoors the air of Insomnia was fresher than Niflheim. It was clean and light. It didn’t make Prompto feel like it was a struggle to draw in air. It felt... nice.

He stepped out behind the last Niflheim guard, ten paces as Ardyn had ordered.

“The walk is short,” The Crownsguard woman spoke so quietly, he had barely heard her. “You don’t have much longer, if I’m understanding this situation correctly.”

Prompto bit his lip and, dangerously, looked back. He whispered, “You are. I’m to be given to the Crown.”

She nodded. “What are you going to do once they’ve given you over?”

Prompto looked at her, a smile that must have been sad spread across his cheeks. She looked almost guilty, and Prompto wondered what she thought the Niflheim were going to make him do.

“How old are you? Are you an adult, at least?”  _ Ah _ , that’s what she thought.

“I’m supposed to be eighteen,” Prompto’s design was made to look like a human, aged sixteen to eighteen. That much is true, but he has the intellect of someone much older than that. He still felt like he was lying to her when he said it, he’d only been produced a year or so ago. “Do I look younger?”

The Crownsguard’s features twisted into a mixture of revulsion, anger, and sadness. Then she hissed out a breath and she couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. Prompto didn’t blame her, she thought exactly as the Niflheim Empire wanted her to. Prompto knew exactly what this was meant to look like to anyone who didn’t truly know. His exact purpose, or at least the one Ardyn would be proclaiming to the King, was an android meant to take care of all of the Crown Prince’s needs. ‘Needs’ subtextually defined as ranging from housework to sex. They were pawning him off to the Crown like a slave, one meant to be used and tossed aside when not needed.

Prompto was fully aware of what this would mean for him. He knew and yet, there was still hope. Hope that he can escape. Hope that he can live. That’s all that he could keep on doing. He’s lasted this long, when so many others like him were wiped out and destroyed, on hope alone. The chances he’d been given so far, they were more than he could’ve hoped for previously. It made him sick, in a way, that he was almost going to just give up before this. That he was going to accept his fate. Accept the keep. Prompto had a glimpse of the sun. He wants to see it again. He hopes that, one day, he will be able to spend an entire day underneath it. Feel the warmth seep into his skin and warm his body. Prompto hopes and hopes and hopes.

It’s all he has left.

The hallway turned once more, and Prompto slowed as he heard Ardyn’s voice booming from the room just beyond the bend. “I do not come with empty promises, Regis. I bring you a gift from our nation to yours, a sign that we can meet our differences in the middle, if you will. For you, we bring some of our finest delegates and weaponry, just as you had graciously offered us last. Think of it as an olive branch, an apology for turning you down then.”

The few military officers stepped closer to the door, slowly filling in, but Prompto hung back knowing that the Chancellor would want to make his entrance as grandiose as possible.

“And as a special gift to the Crown Prince, himself, I bring you the finest technology that the nation has to offer,” Prompto steeled himself as he stepped around the corner of the hallway and to the gaping mouth of the throne room. “It is our home android model, one specifically catered to take care of the Prince’s  _ needs. _ ”

The room felt like a monster swallowing Prompto whole. With the weight of the dozens of eyes on him and the flashing of the cameras made it hard for him to focus on taking the necessary steps forward. The blood red carpet beneath his feet seemed to sprawl endlessly. He felt like he was going to shut down. A hand fell upon his shoulder, and Prompto met Ardyn’s burning gaze and twisted smile.

“Don’t disappoint me, now.” He hissed between his teeth, and Prompto fought the strange sensation of needing to expel his insides out through his mouth.

He nodded and, like he knew he had to do, walked forward to the throne. Death marches were things Prompto knew intimately, he had to study them for some time, as many of the infantry of Niflheim used the tactic exclusively. They had a steady, unwavering walk towards war, towards the 'enemy’, towards certain death. The photos and videos never showed Prompto faltering steps of scared soldiers, never showed fear in any sense, only resolute acceptance. They accepted their fate in their walk.

Prompto felt something like that.

The King was an older man, weak in the shadows of his cheeks and strong in the crease of his brow, greying and still able to wield power that made an entire nation cower in fear. Despite that, Prompto thought that the man’s eyes were kind as he knelt at his feet. Kind, and curious, and surprised, and bright. They were lively. Prompto hadn’t seen anything like them before.

“My King,” Prompto lowered his head, “Pleasure to be of service to you. I am model N-1P01357, serial 05953234. I am a helper android; I cook, clean, take care of children, and the needs or desires of my owner. I am also equipped with the skills necessary to protect my owner in a multitude of situations. I hope to be under the Crown’s command for years to come.”

The last part wasn’t in the script, and perhaps it would end up being a mistake, but at least it was of Prompto’s own volition. His own words for the Crown. He looked up, staring into the eyes of a man Ardyn wished to kill. Prompto couldn’t think of doing such a thing, couldn’t even begin to imagine how one would have gone about the order. He tried to come up with what the King reminded him of, with his face and his way of being both imposing and welcoming.  _ Fatherly _ , Prompto thought,  _ he is fatherly. _

Regis looked him over carefully, unmoving for many moments. Finally, he spoke in a deep tenor that seemed to echo within the room. “We accept your offer, and, in turn, wish to extend our hand in negotiations with you.”

The feeling of his head and face overheating had come back, but he felt  _ happy. _ Prompto was elated. He’d finally,  _ finally _ made it. The smile that spread across his face felt foreign, as did the hot, wet feeling dripping from the sockets of his eyes. The King’s expression softened to something like worry when Prompto let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Come,” Regis beckoned to Prompto, “We’ll have Ignis settle you in while we discuss further, hm?”

“Yes, my King,” He hurried to stand and walk to the side of the throne that the King had gestured to. Prompto kept his back to the rest of the room as he attempted to stop the flow that continued from his eyes, not wanting anyone to see the glaring malfunction that he was currently having. It was futile unfortunately, but something that quickly left his attention as a hand at the small of his back gently pushed him to go forward.

The hand was attached to a tall man with glasses and hair that seemed to have been shocked upright. Prompto had the manic thought that all Lucians must be genetically predisposed to being tall, seeing as all the ones he’s met so far have been well over his own height. Ignis led him to a door behind the throne, that opened to a hallway much less luxurious than the parts of the Citadel he had seen thus far. Prompto felt the leaking worsen and his excitement wane as he came to a horrible realisation, it looked like Gralea all over again.

“Wh-where are we going?” He asked with a voice that was steady, despite his chest drawing in and out air at a pace that was in no way necessary or calming or programmed.

Green eyes looked down at Prompto unkindly. He got no answer. The hallway seemed endless and the walls were far too close for comfort. The gentle hand at his back became forceful, pushing Prompto forward when his feet faltered in their steps. This wasn’t right. Where is the plush carpet and the swirling designs on the walls? Where were the bright, elegant light fixtures? Why was it so much darker? They came up to a large, steel door with a little window, and Prompto felt something in him shatter.

“W-wait, please, tell me where we’re going. I can’t-- I can’t go--” Prompto can’t go back to the dimly lit grey walls of holding areas. 

He can’t go back to not seeing the light of day, when he’d only just gotten it. The King looked nice, and Prompto liked to think he wasn’t enough of Ardyn to dismantle things he didn’t like, but the fear was still there. He’d be stripped, and his skin would be pulled back to reveal just how inhuman he was. Prompto imagined the operating tables that he’d only been strapped onto a handful of times for updates and adjustments and fixing things that went wrong, but--there’s more and Prompto can feel it rushing through him like how he’s suddenly rushing to meet the floor and the only screams and cries he hears are his own, begging that they let him live--  _ let me live, please.  _ Except Prompto isn’t screaming, he’s whispering and sobbing and the man with the glasses and the strange hair is saying things that he doesn’t understand and rubbing his back like he doesn’t know what to do and Prompto doesn’t know what’s happening other than the images of being strapped down and torn apart that are wholly there and yet all in his head. The man with the glasses twists into a man that shoves open his chest with a smile and Prompto really does scream then. The world is twisting and the walls are caving and Prompto thought he was safe, that he’d made it, but in reality he was still being tortured in Gralea and they were mocking him with the hope that had been pushing him toward his cumulative malfunctions thus far. They were punishing him for his thoughts, for  _ betraying _ the Empire. For wanting to leave. For wanting to live. It’s too much, when a commotion is suddenly happening around him, and there are voices, loud and angry, and they feel like they’re all pointed at him and Prompto is slipping somewhere far away from himself. What was happening? He didn’t know, he felt like he knew nothing other than the pain and the images are still flooding into his eyes like the tears--that’s what they’re called, tears--that keep falling from his eyes. He couldn’t take this anymore, he wants to  _ go home-- _

It all stops, abruptly, when Prompto is lifted from the floor in arms that can’t be the man with the glasses and the cold, green eyes. They’re too large, too dark, and too intricate with lines and sharp angles.

The voices are still going, moving back and forth like a tug of war for Prompto’s attention. He couldn’t focus, though, the buzzing in his ears still made it impossible to really listen and the near-static in his cheeks and fingertips drew him to run a diagnostic to see what went wrong, what had critically failed him when he needed nothing more than to function normally for the most important moments of his short life.

Nothing. Nothing was wrong. All of his diagnostics had come back with adequate results, even given the fact that he is  _ leaking _ and his energy supplies are  _ low _ and there are tumultuous emotions churning within him, ready to devour him whole.

He comes back to the present long after he’s finished his internal tests, and the place his body has been set down on is soft and warm. The world is almost quiet, with the turn of the gears in his chest drawing in breath being the loudest thing in his head. He watches the lazy spin of golden fan blades with an acute interest.

“Where… am I?” Prompto tried to move, but for the first time, he felt like he was too heavy. Like his limbs were being held down by an invisible weight made of pure exhaustion.

“You’re in the Prince’s chambers within the Citadel.” Clear, accented. One of the voices from earlier. “Do you-- rather, are you aware of what just happened around twenty minutes ago?”

“No. What happened? I, I can’t remember what I did, but.” He pursed his lips.

“But, what?” It was a push, but it wasn’t commanding, not like before.

“When we walked through the hallway, it looked… Like I was going back to Gralea. To the Keep.” He whispered, slowly, he rationalized his situation. “But that didn’t really happen, did it? I’m still in the Citadel, I’m out of Gralea.”

_ Why? _

The man who was speaking stepped into Prompto’s vision, “Do you know what that is called? When something from your surroundings triggers you to remember an unpleasant memory?”

“No.” He looked around the room. The world seemed technicolor once more in comparison to the hallway before. Its walls were cream and swirling with a pattern he couldn’t describe. The ceiling was a pale blue. The pillows around his head and shoulders matched it. The man with glasses and green eyes looked at him softly now, concerned as he gazed down at Prompto. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s called a panic attack. From what I can tell, you have just experienced a moment in which an environment triggered you to have an episode wherein you may have felt as if you’ve lost control, or gained a sudden sense of impending doom, or even a sense that you were going to die. Now, I’m looking at you like this because I know what I have just witnessed, and it is not the actions of an empty-minded robot. What I saw was a person who had been very hurt, and I’m going to treat this situation as I would treat anyone who has gone through what you just did. Do you understand?”

Prompto nodded, unable to say anything because it felt like his voice box was being clamped down by the rest of his throat. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. The tears in his eyes made it hard to focus on the man. He looked away, as far as he could. The man whose arms had intricate designs dancing down them was leaning against the wall. A smaller, dark-clothed figure stood next to him. Both of them were blurry, and it strained his eyes to attempt to focus on them any longer. Prompto turned back to the ceiling, blinking away at the moisture. This was all too confusing. Too new. Too raw.

Ignis cleared his throat, “I’m going to ask you some very important questions right now, it’s imperative for you to give me an answer, even if that answer is that the question makes you too uncomfortable or you don’t know the answer. Okay?”

Prompto swallowed, flexing the strain in his throat until he felt like he could answer. “O-okay.”

“Alright, do you have a name?” He quickly set his hand on Prompto’s shoulder, “I mean a name, not a model or a serial number.”

He sat, quiet, for a long moment. “It’s Prompto. My name… is Prompto.”

“Did they let you have a name?”

The blonde weakly shook his head, “The ones with names get decommissioned.”

_ Except that doctor. He knew you had a name. _ But for all the honesty Prompto is gifting them right now, there are secrets he can keep until you’re ready to deal with them.

He hummed, biting his lip in thought. “Did they… hurt you, Prompto?”

“That depends. As punishment for doing things wrong. We’d be taken to an area that was dark and cold and they’d shock us until they thought we’d learnt not to do it again. However. We’re considered as being non-human, so they don’t really hold moral qualms over possible mistreatment. They tell us that we don’t feel like real people feel pain.”

He looks lost in his own thoughts for a moment, but recovers quickly enough, “I… I’m truly sorry, Prompto. Did they do this often?”

“After… the first few times. You just learn what they want. The responses or the actions or anything they asked. I just followed what they said. I haven’t gone through it in a while.”

He looked sad in a way that he couldn’t properly convey to the blonde. “You’ll never have to go through that again. On our lives, I swear it. His Highness, Gladio, and myself will do everything in our power to protect you.”

The tears that slid down his cheek felt burning hot. “I—Thank you. Thank you. For everything, this is. It is more than I could’ve asked.”

It was. This was more acceptance and care than Prompto thought he deserved. They didn’t know him, yet they gave him a bed and let him use his name and  _ listened _ to him. They treated him like a human.

“This is the least we can do for you. Think nothing of it. Now, these questions may be a bit harder for you to answer, but if you can it would aid us greatly when we go to The King and tell him what they’ve done to you. No matter what, remember that we will not hurt you. We will keep you safe.” The bespectacled man placed a hand on his shoulder, “Prompto, were you really made to be a gift to His Highness?”

“No,” Prompto whispered, “I wasn’t. Not really”

“That’s what I feared.” Another deep ‘hmm’, mixed with a sigh deep in his chest. “What were you made to do?”

This  _ he _ feared, though. Telling them the truth. Prompto knew they weren’t dumb and Ardyn’s plan was paper-thin at best. He wondered what they said would be taken as truth and what would be taken with great scrutiny.

“Multiple types of combat and weapon use. Household duties. Some comforts. And sex.”

“Comforts? Sex?” He sounded baffled, “I knew there was an insinuation by Ardyn, but I didn’t actually think.”

“It is one of my secondary objectives. To be able to fulfil all the needs of my owner.”

“What is your primary objective?”

“My primary objective, under the eyes of Niflheim,  _ was _ to assassinate the Crown Prince upon my tenth night of being in the hands of the Crown.”

The man--Ignis, Prompto finally recalls--paused. “Is that to say that there is a primary objective the Niflheim Empire does not know about?”

“The objective given to me by them is no longer in my system. I had overridden it.”

“So, what is it now?” Asked the largest, impatience drifting into his voice. Ignis glared at him, but inclined his head to Prompto for an answer.

“‘Live.’”

The room became tense, Ignis leaned back letting out a sigh from deep in him and rubbing his temple with the pads of his fingers. Across from Prompto was a near-silent curse. Another, farther from Prompto, but still close enough to make him feel cornered, spoke.

“They didn’t make a killing machine.” The Crown Prince paused, “They made a person and disguised him as a killing machine.”

“Yes,” Ignis turned back to look at the blonde with an unsettled expression. “They truly did.”

A warm hand clasped his ankle, gently jostling him. “Get some sleep, kid. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

Today was long, Prompto almost remarked. But he couldn't help it. He felt weary and warn-down in this was that he wasn't able to correctly interoperate. So he closed his eyes, and slept. For once in his existence, he was able to close his eyes and sleep.

That and everything else was more than he could’ve ever asked for.


End file.
